Wow
by dearjenna
Summary: This is a one-shot based around Sam and Diane and takes place at the final two minutes of season 2, episode 22 "I'll Be Seeing You, Part 2," and ends a few moments into the first episode of season 3 when Diane returns. If you haven't watched those two episodes in a while, I would recommend watching them first.


**Author's Note:** _Cheers_ is a show I can watch again and again. In a lot of ways it's not just a funny sitcom—the tender moments are so well-written. Not a lot of people talk about _Cheers_, and I think in a lot of ways because of this, the show's really brilliant writing is under-appreciated, at least at this time. I hope you like this one. The description has a bit more on when this takes place. Anyway here's a one-shot. **_Please leave reviews._**

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"Wow"

Diane Chambers was out of Cheers. With a few hesitant clicks of her heels up the cement staircase, she turned as if she was ready to go back in, to apologize, to say more, to do more. That was Diane. She was completely incapable of letting things go, but Sam Malone had proven to her that if any man could match her in pride, it was him. "Keep your face always towards the sunshine, and the shadows will fall behind you," she said out loud to no one. "Walt Whitman," as if she were informing someone less-educated near her, "seems rather appropriate," she added as she looked up to the street above her. The Bostonian underground bar had become her safe haven for five long years, and in that time it had been a place of just as much distress. While she wouldn't be willing to admit it just yet, the smack on the cheek that Sam gave her—inexcusable as an action as it may have been—was something she desperately needed. She needed a reason to finally leave.

Sam had turned around more than once after Diane closed the bar's door behind her, but he couldn't bring himself to reopen that door after his final "get the Hell out of here." Worst, he couldn't bear to deal with the idea that he may have even brought the woman to tears. She was overcomplicated, obnoxious, stuck-up, and repugnant. No, it was time for Diane to leave. They both needed her out just as much as they thought they needed each other. This was her fault, she pushed him away.

The painting was waiting on the bar, unopened. The carefully wrapped beige wrapping paper was taunting Sam. It was like that damn heartbeat in that damn Poe story that Diane had talked about once. It was there and it wouldn't leave. He could see it from the corner of his eye, but it almost felt like an invasion of Diane's privacy to open it now. _Not that she ever knew how to stay out of my damn business_, Sam thought to himself. He grabbed a nearby peeling knife and cut the string holding the paper together. It popped, and he slid the canvas out of the paper slowly. He held it delicately in his large hands and was overwhelmed by its magnitude. He didn't feel large enough to see it, to take it in as it was. There were hues of blue with a face outlined in a melancholic expression. The eyes heavy, the shoulders small. Sam scanned the image one more time before a "wow" came out of his mouth softly and honestly. And there it was, every fight, every hit, every bite worn on the shoulders of a woman who tried to love beyond her reach. All that was left was a man holding the pieces of it together in his hands, who had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

.~.-.~.

The days passed quickly for Sam and Diane, miles apart, but always tortured by each other even in silence. There was no solitude in misery, especially misery settled in the home of the lonely. There were few times the two could even say the others' name in the darkness without feeling a physical pang in their chests. It was a brokenness that Sam hadn't ever truly known, and one that Diane was hardly in any state of mind to endure. But days turned to weeks turned to months, so says every calendar, and eventually a drunken Sam was met with her face again—the same monster in every nightmare, the same beast hiding in his closet. Diane. Once his Diane. He was unshaven, he was wearing disheveled clothing, his hair wasn't finely combed, his cologne had worn off, and his fists had begun to form a familiar shape again—the kind that fits tightly around the neck of an expensive bottle. She said she was there on business, of course his business. Her blonde hair and stunning face sobered him. Sam stood defeated. Diane wasn't sure if she could handle the pressure of seeing him, but for once she was on a higher ground than he was. This tall, tall man who made her shorter each day, suddenly seemed so small.

"Well, say something," Diane said.

But he couldn't say anything, he didn't want to say anything. He wanted to remain there in that moment, he wanted to remember that this was the same woman in the painting; the same one he destroyed trying to love her. She walked out of Cheers months ago harboring all that he had laid upon her. In the end, Sam wondered if she hadn't won that fight all along. Because Diane was here, stronger than ever, stronger than Sam.

_Wow._

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**A/N: **I would love reviews on this. And if you ever have requests for anything you can inbox me. I've never made that clear, but I'm fine taking requests for one-shots/story ideas. Just give me an idea of what you want.


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